


i will burst apart

by Theboys



Series: what a time to be alive [5]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Angst, Clothing Kink, Jealousy, M/M, basketball!player Jared, journalist!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 23:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9520400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: “I’m just thankful for my support system,” Jared’s saying, winding down as he prepares to rejoin the fray of his teammates. “I’ve got two really important people waiting for me back home and I just. I wouldn’t be able to do anything I get to do without them.”Jensen's got a deadline but he's waiting up for his husband.





	

**Author's Note:**

> these are (obviously) snapshots of their life together, so i'll definitely be sharing the scandal that I hinted at last time.

Jared’s in Miami when Jensen first starts getting back spasms.

He’s not keen on traveling anymore, the amount of time in the air, unmoving and generally cramped despite Jared’s preference to fly via personal jet, makes him feel nauseous.

Everything is ill-fitting, tight in some places and disconcertingly loose in others. 

He angles himself toward the mirror in their bedroom, clutch of fabric against his abdomen.

He grabs his phone to text Jared, even though Jay won’t be able to check his phone until the end of the game.

_ Your son is shaped like a watermelon _

Jensen strips out of his shirt and pads to Jared’s closet, scans the impressive rack of clothes for something that’ll hang off of his body and stop making him feel like the little cow that could.

He finds a shirt from training camp, long blue-gold sleeves that go well past his fingertips. It’s tight on Jared’s shoulders but Jensen struggles to drag it on over his neck.

He’s only four months along and, in reality, he’s not as big as he could be, but he sees the type of men and women that fling themselves at Jared on the regular.

He’s not unattractive when he’s not pregnant and he curls both hands underneath the swell of baby.

_ I’m wearing your shirt _

_ The one from camp last year. Long-sleeves _

He debates taking a picture and blushes even though he’s all alone in the big house. Jared will cajole him to send something on the flight back, and if there’s anything that Jensen likes it’s having Jared land--ready to fuck him into the ground.

He’s--very slowly--making his way downstairs, unaccustomed to the shift in gravity that Jared’s spawn creates, when his back jerks, and the pain momentarily blinds him.

“Shit. Jesus,” he breathes, cold sweat beading across his forehead. “Hey, little man.  Calm down in there,” he admonishes, brushes four fingertips against his stomach.

The dude seems to settle at the feeling and the sound and Jensen grits his teeth against the ongoing ricochet of pain.

Golden State’s playing the Heat and Jensen’s supposed to watch with Chris and Chad, but they’re running late because Chris got a slow leak two days ago that he was unaware of. Now they’re having the car serviced before they can make it over.

They’re midway through the second half and Jensen’s got his Mac balanced on the edge of their coffee table.

He’s got a looming deadline for his article, a three-part expose on doping in the athletic world, and he’s still supposed to travel to have a sit-down interview with a two-time Olympic gold medalist who lost one of her medals after coming up positive for performance enhancing drugs.

Jared’s boy is pressing uncomfortably close to his bladder and he stretches out his right leg in an attempt to soothe the kid.

Chris and Chad are gonna miss the last of the game if they don’t hurry, and Jensen turns the volume up so he can listen to the announcer without having to look up from his work.

“Number eighteen! Well then, well then, they don’t call him the Surgeon for nothing, you catch that Don? His twelfth consecutive triple-double this season alone!”

Jensen flips his head up at that, watches his husband recover the Heat’s ball, pass it off to Thompson who shoots--slightly short, it bounces off the rim and Jared’s there, tapping the ball just enough with the edge of his finger to knock it the rest of the way in.

“Fuck! Yes! That’s your Daddy’s thirteenth assist this game!” Jensen hollers, leans forward and his son seems to perk up at the motion.

“Sorry, sorry sweetheart,” Jensen murmurs, and Jared quickly slaps fives with his teammates, tucks all that long hair back up into a bun.

They’re listing off Jared’s stats, comparing this season with his last with the Bulls and Jensen checks the scoreboard. It’s a 94 to 82 split and there’s still five minutes left to play.

Jensen’s phone buzzes beside him and he realizes he’s been leaning heavily on his keys--there’s now a page’s worth of repeating  _ m’s  _ that he’s got to delete.

Chris’ name lights up the screen and he slides it to answer, one eye on his laptop and the other on the television.

“You’re missing it!” Jensen says, breath coming heavily. “We’re listening!” Chad answers, and Jensen hears Chris’ bitten off curses as he breaks every speed limit there is in order to get here for the last of the game.

“Who says my boy’s not a monster! Who says!” Chad’s screaming, and Jensen has to laugh, full-bodied, at Chad’s enthusiasm.

“He’s got hands for days, doesn’t he, babe,” Chad’s saying, directed at Chris, and Jensen’s face is swallowed up by his smile.

“The things they do on  _ and _ off the court, amirite, Jen?” Chad suggests, and Jensen blushes even though Chad’s not here to witness it.

“Just like you to ruin a good thing, Chad,” Jensen says dryly, and he can finally make out Chris in the background.

“Hang up the phone, Chad, you’re fucking distracting me! Jen, we’ll be there soon!” 

There’s some scuffling and what sounds suspiciously like a zipper being lowered and a grunt of pleased surprise and Jensen drops his phone in the effort of hanging up so quickly.

There are seconds left to play and Jensen knows they’re not gonna make it, so he closes his laptop and wraps both arms around the swell of the child Jared accidentally put in him.

They still have a six-point lead when the buzzer signals the end and it’s not their cleanest win, but Jensen’s just selfish enough to admit that most of their success this game is due to his husband.

He’s the first player the sportscaster approaches, and Jensen recognizes her from corporate parties, Heather-something or other.

She’s grinning up at Jared and Jensen’s unreasonably, irrationally jealous.

He scoops up his phone from where it’s halfway hidden underneath the couch.

_ Heather Arnold is making eyes at you _

_ But she’s not in your shirt with nothing underneath _

_ I’m already open _

He blushes again when he re-reads the sent messages, but he knows it’ll get Jared going like nothing else, the idea that Jensen’s wet and ready to get fucked as soon as he flies home.

He’s always got adrenaline for days after a win, and Green wraps a sweaty arm around Jared’s neck as he tries to answer all of Heather’s redundant questions.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jared says, still breathing post-game heavy.

“I don’t know what it was, honestly. It was a good crowd. It’s a good crowd and they’re a bunch of dedicated guys. I wouldn’t be anywhere without Klay setting up for me and Andre made some pivotal moves in the late half. We came to play our hardest and I think we did that. I think we did that.”

Jared’s rambling, won’t remember what the hell he said when Jensen replays the interview for him, and Jensen laughs at his husband’s tells. 

Jared doesn’t mind post-game interviews, but he hates the ones directly at the end of a game. He’s still burning up bright with competition and he always feels like he sounds incompetent.

Jared swipes a broad palm against the back of his head and grins down at Heather. 

She practically melts under all that scrutiny and Jensen snatches his phone up from his lap just as his kid jostles his bladder a little to the left.

“Ah, Jesus, sweetheart, can you hold off until your Daddy’s done on TV?” Jensen focuses on breathing out of the side of his mouth so that he doesn’t pee all over himself.

_ Just for that, i’m not gonna hold myself open when you get home _

_ You can sleep in one of your eighty fucking guestrooms _

He knows he’s being unreasonable but he should’ve gone. He doesn’t know why he didn’t go. The little nugget can handle some air travel until he gets too big to go anywhere anymore.

“Your Daddy’s gonna leave us for someone with a  _ fucking waistline _ , _ ”  _ Jensen wails, and he’s suddenly pleased to remember he’s home alone.

“I’m just thankful for my support system,” Jared’s saying, winding down as he prepares to rejoin the fray of his teammates. “I’ve got two really important people waiting for me back home and I just. I wouldn’t be able to do anything I get to do without them.”

Jared makes full eye contact with the camera for the first time all evening and Jensen unintentionally digs his fingers into the give of his stomach.

“We know your husband is expecting, is there anything you can share about that?” Heather is greedy for information, thrives on the gossip of a new little family.

“I’m just really excited to get home to them both,” Jared says, smoothly disentangles himself from the conversation, nods once at Heather’s bemused smile.

Jensen’s having trouble seeing between the sheen of what feels like tears and he takes a deep, stabilizing breath.

_ You can sleep in the bed,  _ he types out,  _ but you gotta stay on your own side. _

The baby makes himself known again, frantic for attention, and Jensen’s bladder makes a sore reappearance. 

“I’m moving, I’m moving,” Jensen grumbles, uses the slippery leather grip of the couch to lever himself into a standing position.

The movement jars him, sends a violent lance of pain spinning through his back and he crashes to the floor just at the foot of the stairs, breathes through his mouth and takes the brunt of the pain to his left hip.

He’s trying to make words but the wind is all knocked out of him and he reaches down to cradle his stomach, brace most of his weight on his side, even though his back is reverberating with pain.

He’s half-aware that the wetness on his cheeks are tears and he’s too far from his phone to call for any help.

_ I can wait it out,  _ he thinks wearily, but his mouth is dry and the baby is still and he cannot stay awake through the dull throb of his body.

It’s almost like he’s sleeping.

-

The IV is an unwelcome surprise when he finally comes to.

His head is aching and his neck cracks in the unwilling silence. 

He’s cognizant enough to realize he’s in the hospital, but it’s not until he sees a familiar kneecap, connected by the gaudy blue and yellow of their team that he understands that Jared’s here.

Jay’s slumped over in the toddler-sized seat they’ve provided him and Jensen turns his head toward the doorway.

They’re in what looks to be an expensive private room and Jensen can see the outline of several bodyguards stationed just outside.

He can hear his own heart rate and he wishes he weren’t so goddamned exhausted.

He struggles to sit up and the pain that cycles through his bruised hip is so severe that he can’t quite keep a small scream under wraps.

Jared’s up like a light, eyes baggy with no sleep.

“Jensen. Jensen. Jen, Jensen, baby, sit back, huh? Lay down. What do you need?” Jared doesn’t stop for air, and Jensen realizes he’s still dressed in his uniform, basketball shoes included.

“Why are you here?” Jensen says, voice small. “Or am I in Miami?” He’s confused, reaches out both hands for his husband.

“God. God, baby, I flew back when Chris and Chad called me. It’s--it’s a seven hour flight. You’ve been out for twelve,” Jared explains, catches both of Jensen’s palms in one bigger hand.

“I don’t understand,” Jensen says, and that doesn’t sound like his voice. 

Jared’s face crumples, and he catches Jensen’s cheeks in his hands, presses a deep kiss to his mouth. Jensen opens on instinct, sighs into Jared’s demanding tongue.

Jared still smells like sweat and leather and sunlight and Jensen hangs onto his shoulders for balance.

“The baby,” Jensen breathes when Jared finally leans far enough away for Jensen to find air again. 

“It hurt--my back, my back hurt and I fell,” he says, eyes briskly filling with tears. “Jesus. Jay, what’s wrong with him? I can’t--if we lose him,” Jensen says in a rush, bites down on his lower lip so he can stop talking.

Jared’s paling at Jensen’s words, like he didn’t have an idea of what happened before Jensen spoke.

“The baby’s fine,” Jared says carefully, and Jensen bursts into tears, full-bodied sobs that he doesn’t even try to control.

“Ah, oh sweetheart, baby,” Jared flounders, stands to his impressive height and looks around the room like someone is going to magically appear in order to direct him.

He gathers Jensen up into his lap, slow-slow so as not to dislodge him from the plethora of medical equipment.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jared repeats, a loop of condolences that Jensen can’t really hear.

“Please, baby, please stop crying. I’m here. I’m here and I won’t leave you again. Please, Jen,” Jared says, allows Jensen to hiccup ugly into his neck, arms wrapped around Jared’s wide shoulders.

“I don’t--I can’t fucking stop  _ crying _ ,” Jensen wails, and Jared laughs, the bastard, shakes his whole body with underserved amusement.

“God, I love you,” Jared whispers, wipes away his own tears. “The both of you. Christ,” Jared says, and he sounds like he’s gearing up to say something else but he clears his throat four times and rests his chin on the crown of Jensen’s head instead.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't finished a single work in months, so sorry that this is lackluster, but your comments are ever helpful!


End file.
